A Book of the Seasons: September 12.

September 12. 

I go to Flint's Pond

for the sake of mountain views

from the hill beyond.

September 12, 1851

It is worth the while

to see the mountains in the

horizon each day.

September 12, 1851

 It is worth the while

once a day.to see mountains

in the horizon.

September 12, 1851

Amid October woods 

we here no funeral bell but 

the scream of the jay. 

September 12, 1858

One dense mass of the 

bright-golden Solidago

waving in the wind. 

September 12, 1859

September 12, 2016

Many a dry field now, like that of Sted Buttrick's on the Great Fields, is one dense mass of the bright golden recurved wands of the Solidago nemoralis, waving in the wind and turning upward to the light hundreds, if not a thousand, flowerets each. September 12, 1859

September 12, 2015

It is the greatest mass of conspicuous flowers in the year, uniformly from one to two feet high, just rising above the withered grass all over the largest fields, now when pumpkins and other yellow fruits begin to gleam, now before the woods are noticeably changed. September 12, 1859


I go to Flint's Pond for the sake of the mountain view from the hill beyond, looking over Concord. I have thought it the best, especially in the winter, which I can get in this neighborhood. September 12, 1851

It is worth the while to see the mountains in the horizon once a day. September 12, 1851

I wish to see the earth through the medium of much air or heaven, for there is no paint like the air. Mountains thus seen are worthy of worship. September 12, 1851

I go to Flint's Pond also to see a rippling lake and a reedy island in its midst, — Reed Island. September 12, 1851


I can hardly believe that there is so great a difference between one year and another as my journal shows. September 12, 1851

We yearn to see the mountains daily, September 12, 1851

How autumnal is the scent of ripe grapes now by the roadside! From the pond-side hill I perceive that the forest leaves begin to look rather rusty or brown. The pendulous, drooping barberries are pretty well reddened. I am glad when the berries look fair and plump. September 12, 1851

I love to gaze at the low island in the pond, — at any island or inaccessible land. The isle at which you look always seems fairer than the mainland on which you stand. September 12, 1851


Very heavy rain to-day (equinoctial), raising the river suddenly. A dark and stormy night (after it). September 12, 1860

A Book of the Seasons, by Henry Thoreau
"A book, each page written in its own season,
out-of-doors, in its own locality."

~edited, assembled and rewritten by zphx © 2009-2015